Can't Do This Without You
by Vixi Dilexi
Summary: From the Hetalia Kink Meme. "There's no England here. Not now. Without him in the way, he has everything. Power. Money. Control. America." One sided RusAme. USUK.


_**Written for the Hetalia Kink Meme. Prompt as followed: **One sided Russia/America, established England/America relationship. One of the reasons why communism fell is England relationship to America, there support and being allies. With that in my mind, I would like too see a one-shot where Russia daydreaming of a world that England never existed in. You can write the daydream anyway you like. Bonus: At the end England ask what Russia is thinking about for which he responds, "A world where you don't exist comrade," _

Like the prompt says, one sided RusAme and some USUK. Nothing too graphic.

It's right after the Fall when he notices. He's weak, sore, hurt. His pride is damaged beyond belief. All because of that goddamn, Capitalist, fat, _pig _and his batshit insane ally.

He can't be bothered with anger. It makes his chest ache.

He almost can't believe he's at the world meeting. America is so close to him. Only a few feet away. He can almost see the expression he would make when his hands wrapped around his stupid, tanned throat and _squeezed._

Or the face he would make if he kissed him. Now that would be something, wouldn't it?

Laughing hurts, so he sobers himself. Germany shouts something and the quiet murmuring dies down.

And that's when he sees it.

It's so damn _subtle _he was sure no one noticed it but him.

England's fingers brushed his former colony's. That wasn't it. They lingered. The tips toyed with one another's in the span of a few seconds. Then they parted, slowly, reluctantly.

America's cheeks dusted pink.

Russia saw red.

~*~

It's a few years after the Fall. Russia still has phantom aches and pains. Most of them centered around the spot where his heart should be anchored. He ignores them.

It's not quite a meeting, but Germany has called them together for something. Russia isn't sure what for, but he showed up anyway.

So did America.

So did England.

They're sitting in a café. To put it in more appropriate terms: England and America are cuddled—yes, _cuddled_-in a booth on the other side of the café while Russia sits alone at one of the tables, nursing a weak cup of tea. He doesn't like Sweden's tea.

He doesn't like much of anything right now. He grits his teeth as he glares in their direction and he just happens to catch it.

England leans over and whispers a kiss over America's forehead. An affectionate peck. Pink blooms along his high cheekbones, across his face, and up to his ears. He grins like the idiot he is and returns a less secretive kiss right on the Englishman's lips.

He hopes he's imagining the sharp smirk in his direction before America's mouth is plundered with the kind of skill only a pirate could possess. He can hear the whimper America makes and it makes heat bloom between his legs.

England catches his eye purposely and whispers something sharp and heated in the younger nations ear. It makes America's eyes darken and he quickly grabs his things. He doesn't even see Russia as he leaves, hand-in-hand with England.

Russia hears more than feels his heart fumble out of his chest.

~*~

He has high hopes for this year. 2012. He hasn't looked forward to it, but it had to be better than 2011. There was no way for it to be worse.

It's January in Russia. So, snow. He offered to host the meeting at his house in the hopes that everyone would cancel. Some did. Not America. Not England.

God dammit.

Germany rambles on and he pretends to pay attention. He smiles and nods at what he hopes are the appropriate times. He can barely concentrate.

England is right next to him.

He closes his eyes.

_He's still at the meeting. It's different now. He's in charge. Germany isn't rambling on and on. He's quiet. They all are. They're waiting for him to speak. The Soviet Union. The strongest, longest-lasting, Communist empire to ever come into existence. He clears his throat, but before he can speak there's a hand on his thigh._

"Ivan," his name is a low purr on America's tongue, "Can we hurry up? I'm ready to get home. I missed you..."

There's no England here. Not now. Without him in the way, he has everything. Power. Money. Control.

America.

He's different now. Without England he's so...open. So welcome to new ideas. He accepted Communism without _a fight. He's not as stubborn. Russia likes that._

His eyes—still such a pretty blue—are devoid of that blank, hopeful look. They're sharper. America is smart. He's not afraid to show it.

The other countries fear them. There's nothing to stop them now. They'll move downward, claim Mexico, Hispaniola, Brazil, Peru. It'll be easy with America. Without England.

He doesn't realize he's laughing aloud until England jabs him sharply with his elbow. "The bloody hell are you on about?"

Russia reasons that America wouldn't like it if he killed England. So, he just smiles and shakes his head, "Just thinking."

England scoffs, "Careful there; you might hurt yourself. Penny for your thoughts?"

"Just thinking of a world where you don't exist, comrade."

England stills. His hands drift unconsciously toward America who's giving him a soft, imploring look. "Iggy, what's up?"

He isn't glaring. In fact, America's eyes are upturned in an implied smile.

It hurts a lot more than he expected.

"'Sup, big guy?"

Before he can get so much as a greeting out, England sends a sharp look to America. It quiets him, but his eyes linger. Russia feels his face color. America grins.

England feels bigger than he is. A huge, imposing wall keeping them separated. America doesn't even realize it. But Russia does. It hurts.

So, he retreats back into his mind and dreams of their fingers tangling together while they whisper snippets of sweet nonsense in each others ears.

_Reviews are love and cuddles. _


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